Fool's Gold: A Kisses and Crimes Novel (26 page)

Elle-Lexy:

Oh, fuck your Saturday nights, Lukas. One night without bar-hopping and bed-hopping won’t kill you.

I freeze.

LukasGriff:

Care to tell me how you know so much about me?

Elle-Lexy:

I know a lot about you, Lukas. More than you think…

My eyes narrow at the screen.
She’s fucking with me… and I don’t like it.

Elena seems to know quite a bit about me, and I know fucking
zilch
about her.

Is she blonde? Brunette?

What color are her eyes?

I try to imagine her face, her body. My thoughts begin to wander.

Is she petite? Tall? Curvy?

My cock twitches briefly.

LukasGriff:

I see…Why do you care?

I pull my laptop further onto my lap, watching impatiently for her response. A minute passes before she answers.

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t. I just want to make sure that I can count on you.

LukasGriff:

You can… as long as you don’t play any One Direction at the party.

Elle-Lexy:

I would never. Besides… Justin Beiber’s more my style.

I laugh out loud, shaking my head.

LukasGriff:

You’re really asking for it…

Elle-Lexy:

Asking for what?

LukasGriff:

It. Payback. Punishment.

Several seconds pass before she responds.

Elle-Lexy:

What kind of punishment?

The words catch me off-guard… and I shift uncomfortably from where I sit, staring intently at the screen. This is something I didn’t expect…

On the outside, Elena’s question seems straightforward, innocent—but there’s something deeper in the sub-context. Something darker. Something
erotic
.

The twitch in my cock becomes a leap, and the tightness in my boxer briefs turns from awkward into painful.

I pull on the front of them, shifting my hard-on to a more comfortable spot – as if that were even possible. I stare at the blinking cursor for several more seconds.

I go for it.

LukasGriff:

I’d bend you over my bed. Pin your hands to the mattress. I’d stand behind you and show you just how hard punishment can be when you misbehave…

I stop typing, and I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing as I wait for her reply.

I wait… and wait…

Suddenly, it pops up.

Elle-Lexy:

How hard?

My chest starts heaving the minute I read her words.

I take my dick out of boxers and palm it in one hand, stroking it gently before placing my hands back on the keyboard.

LukasGriff:

HARD, Elena. So hard.

I’d push your panties to the side and slam into you. I’d pump you over and over again until you apologized. Until your pussy couldn’t take anymore. Until you came all over my cock.

And even when you’d beg, I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep punishing you. Because that’s what happens to bad, disobedient girls. They get punished.

I finish the last sentence with one hand, using the other to pump a closed fist over my shaft.

I imagine that my hand is Elena’s pussy, and that I’m slamming into her again and again, punishing her for her testy attitude, for that foul mouth.

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah? And what if I like to be punished?

What if my pussy likes it hard and fast? What if it likes to clench around you? Squeeze you with its wetness while you stroke?

I groan, taking several seconds to pump myself harder. I keep a hand on the keys. I can barely type the words.

LukasGriff:

Even better. I want you wet. Are you wet right now?

Elle-Lexy:

Yes…

LukasGriff:

Is it soaked for me?

Elle-Lexy:

Yes, Lukas

LukasGriff:

Touch it, Elena. Put your fingers inside. Feel how fucking good you feel.

Elle-Lexy:

I am Lukas. Its so wet. It feels so good

The more we type, the worse the grammar gets. My hands are shaking. I can’t key the words fast enough.

LukasGriff:

I know baby. I know. Feel me baby. Feel me pumping into you.

Elle-Lexy:

I do. And I cant take it. Im about to explode

LukasGriff:

I want you to come. Come for me Elena

Elle-Lexy:

Im coming...

At her words,
I
come, releasing myself all over my hand with a muffled moan that resonates deep within my gut.

I slump against the headboard, feeling spent and utterly satisfied.
Mmm…
that was the fastest I’ve come in months.

Granted, I’ve been sexless for two weeks, and my horniness was at an all-time high, but
damn
. That was different… and I liked it.

Except now I’m coming down from my high, and reality is sinking in.

I just came over Skype with Elena. I just made Elena come.
Kat’s sister.

She hates me. Or… she hated me. I don’t know. I don’t know
what
the fuck is going on…

I roll slowly out of the bed, making my way to my sink where I clean up. When I return, there’s a message already waiting.

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know what the fuck just happened.

I smirk, typing back.

LukasGriff:

I don’t know what the fuck that was, either. But it was good…

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know. Look, I’ve got to go.

I scowl, tapping rapidly on the keyboard.

LukasGriff:

Wait. Didn’t you still want to talk about the DJ?

Elle-Lexy:

I don’t know…

Ok, yeah, I guess.

Let’s just talk tomorrow.

My shoulders slump. She’s getting weird on me. This isn’t good…

LukasGriff:

Yeah, sure. That’s fine. You know how to reach me.

A few more seconds pass.

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah, I guess I do…

I’ll talk to you later, Lukas.

But I won’t let it end there.

LukasGriff:

One more thing, Elena…

Elle-Lexy:

Yeah?

LukasGriff:

Coldplay isn’t crap. Good night.

The greatest risk is not taking any. – Tim Fargo

ELENA

When I wake up Sunday morning, I open my eyes to discover a foggy day… and an even
foggier
conscience.

I just had phone sex with Lukas Griffin last night—or
Skype
sex, text sex—whatever.

Whatever it was… it wasn’t right; it wasn’t appropriate. He’s my future brother-in-law’s
best friend
… and a regular man-whore—or so I’ve heard.

Kat has given me enough details about Foxx’s friends. She loves them all
fiercely
, but she
did
give me the full run-down—the
good
, the
bad
and
everything in-between
.

After all, with me moving to Tampa, I’m going to have to get to know them—at least on a basic level.

But what I’ve done with Lukas
far
surpasses “basic.” We’ve overstepped a boundary, and now I’m not so sure how to double back.

He called me early this morning, and he
never
calls. I’m usually the one that reaches out, but now he’s switched things up and I’m nervous—nervous that he’s eager for round two.

And basically… I just don’t need this
shit.

This morning, I booked a one-way ticket out of Memphis as soon as I could get dressed and hopped on the
most expensive
flight of my life to get to Tampa ahead of time to get away from it all—to take a mini-vacation before the party even starts—
just
for myself.

I’ve got too much on my plate already with moving and planning this party. My closest friend Linda has been calling me for the past few days, and I don’t even have time for
her.

I don’t need another complication, and Lukas Griffin—well, he’s a complication.

I always do this. I always let my hormones get me into trouble. That’s how I ended up with my ex, Teddy.  I think I was in an ovulation phase, and he happened to be standing by or something.

Ugh.

That’s my problem. I go these
long
periods without sex, and then at some point, I just
crack
; I break down and try to hump the closest swinging penis.

And that’s all it was with Lukas—a tiny breaking point. He just caught me at a bad time, is all.

And so what if Kat implied that he was sexy?
I’ve
never seen his face. He could be the Elephant Man reincarnate, and I could’ve masturbated with the long missing twin of John Merrick—
God rest his soul.

One week—less
than one week—until I have to meet this man, this
stranger
who made me climax over Internet message like an over-eager pre-teen.

Shit.
This is going to be
so
embarrassing, but it’s going to be even
more
embarrassing if I try to chicken out—which I’ve thought about doing approximately three times today already.

But I can’t
not
attend the party that
I
planned, so I guess I’m just going to have to tough it out for the next week—grow some balls.

I’m pretty good at that, actually…

***

LUKAS

I walk out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the Grand Hyatt with the gait of a man on the hunt.

I am well-dressed. I am poised. I am absolutely
fucking
livid.

Tonight is the night of the party, and I haven’t heard one goddamned word from Elena since our Skype night.

I’ve called her ten thousand times since that night, wondering about the final party arrangements.

Ok… I’m lying.

I called to make sure that we both had an
understanding
—a common acceptance—that what we did was
just
a fluke, a one-time thing, and that we should
never
mention it to either Kat or Foxx.

I’d hope she would agree… but then she never picked up. She didn’t return my phone calls. She never replied to my texts.

All that was left to do was to ponder—to contemplate just how the
hell
we could make it through this party without creating any more disasters—
Justin Beiber music aside
.

I waltz right into Armani’s, the rooftop restaurant turned engagement party ballroom, bypassing the decorators, the waiters—the staff.

I’m here an hour early, and it’s not so that I can attend to the
music
or the
food
or even the booze; I’m here in search of her—Elena.

And for the most part, I’ve done my fucking job.

I’ve convinced Foxx and Kat to attend what they
believe
is an upscale dinner with a potential client. I’ve managed to drag them out from the depths of their private bubble of sex on a
Friday night
—and it wasn’t easy.

Now, it’s Elena’s turn.

We’re in this
shit
together, and I’m just hoping and praying that she’s come through in my involuntary absence.

In my single-minded pursuit, I
blaze
towards the center of the floor, but I have to stop in my stampede when a cart full of cupcakes comes barreling past my shoulder.

I glare at the staffer who barely missed me when the bustle of the room around me finally registers.

Everyone is scrambling, setting up the equipment, the decorations and food. Contrary to my instinct to rush, I pause in the middle of the floor, taking it all in—marveling at what the transformed restaurant has become.

It isn’t a restaurant anymore; it’s a
showroom
.

The customary muted lighting of Armani’s isn’t just muted; it’s
glowing…
in a subdued gold color that makes the air almost shimmer. Huge copper-colored ribbons line the ceiling of the room, twisting and hanging so low that they give the appearance of being touchable.

Curvy gold vases sit at the center of burgundy-covered round tables. The roses that lay within the vases are identical in color to the table lining, as if they’ve bled right into the fabric beneath them.

Trays of food and drink—in hues of amber and cream, beige and light pink—are passed around in a synchronized dance around the perimeter.

So, this is what two and a half months of bitching, haranguing and negotiating with Elena over the phone got us?

Hm. I like it.

In fact, I more than like it.
It’s fucking perfect.

But the more I think about what it took to get here, the more my singular focus returns, tuning everything else out. Now my thoughts are off of the décor and
right back
onto Elena.

My eyes skim the entire floor, probing… searching.

Where…? Where is she?

I don’t know where to look…or even
how
to look. She could be anyone.

I examine the women closely, eyeing them carefully. I jump from face to face.

Waitress.

Hotel staff.

Waitress.

Waitress—Oh, wait, she’s kinda cute…

There.
I hear a loud voice booming near the bar. A woman’s. I don’t think; I just move.

Finally gonna get to meet the woman behind the voice, the screen.
My heart starts pumping—
fast
, beating with a toxic mixture of excitement and dread.

But when I make it to the woman’s side, it slams, giving a final dull thud before quieting completely.

She’s a large, redheaded woman in a button-down white top. Her face is round. Her scowl is fierce. She’s grabbing people left and right, stopping trays, touching platters.

I close my eyes, bemoaning every single sexual thought I had about her.  I didn’t know
anything
about Elena, and still, I had fantasized about fucking her six different ways from Sunday.

I’m sick
. I’m a sick man. And now look at what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

I stop right in front of her, sighing heavily.

She notices me out of the corner of her eye before turning to me, giving me her full attention. She assesses me carefully, from the top of my tux to the soles of my shoes.

She raises an eyebrow. “May I help you with something?”

Her voice is gravelly—rough.

“Uh, yeah, actually. It’s me—Lukas.”

She shrugs a hefty shoulder. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

I balk—confused. Wait…

“Elena?”

The redhead laughs heartily.

“You’ve got the wrong woman, sweet-face. I’m the head caterer. You looking for the organizer of the party?” I nod once.

“
That’s
Elena over there.” She points unabashedly over my shoulder… and in the direction of one of the sexiest women I have ever seen.

This new woman is facing towards me, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks. Unlike the caterer, she is neither loud nor boisterous but she is commanding the attention of everyone around her.

Her blonde hair is full, reaching to her naked collarbone. Her shoulders and back are bare and seemingly silky smooth.

Her clothes are red—a dress? I’m not sure. All I see is her face… and skin… and
legs…

Fuck—this
is Elena?

I have the sudden urge for a cigarette…
and I don’t even smoke anymore.

I start walking.

I pay no attention to the audience at her helm; I don’t even see them. I cut through the crowd like the parting of the Red Sea, stopping right in front of her.
Right
in front of her.

I am close.
Too
close. I could reach out and touch her. The thought is tempting.

The man talking to her notices me before she does and when he sees the look in my eyes, he backs away.
Smart man.

Finally, she sees me.

She turns on me, regarding me curiously.

“Yes?”

I rock back on my heels, placing my hands in my pockets.

“Mm. An answer before prompting… That’s funny. I couldn’t seem to get an answer for the last
six
days.”

Her expression drops. “Lukas,” she says simply.

My sardonic smile is my reply.

For several seconds after, we stand still, staring at one another, piercing each other with hot-tempered gazes that blaze a line of fire.

Her blue eyes are a liquid flame, and the heat behind them is indescribable. They glow with some sort of subtle passion—a form of anger or desire… maybe both…

I’m almost sure what I see in her eyes is reflected in my own, but suddenly, a voice cuts in.

“Elena,” a staffer says, close-by. “Where should I put the roses?”

Elena breaks the stare, shifting her attention to the waiting woman.

“Over there,” she points. “On the dining tables. I need a bouquet in each centerpiece.”

I pull her eyes back to mine, ignoring the interrupting staffer.

“We need to talk.”

Her eyes flash. “Maybe we do… but definitely not right now.” She starts to turn on her heel.

My hand shoots out, grabbing her securely by the wrist. Touching her skin gives me a jolt, electrifying me down to my toes.

I know she feels it, too. She shudders.